Humbug (The Unwinding of Ebenezer Scrooge): A Science Fiction Adventure, page 11
He was an entrepreneur. A pioneer.
He would lead the world into a new era of technology and fulfill dreams and wishes. And while he hated the name, they could call him Santa Claus if they wanted. Because that was what he was, except with loads of money and no little people.
Except the two living in the west wing.
Eb went to sleep with the top hat on the pillow. He forgot all about the future his dream monster had showed him. True or not, the future was tomorrow.
He was only interested in today.
PART III
~
THE GHOST OF CHRISTMAS PRESENT
FOURTEEN
~
Black smoke spewed from the trucks.
The drivers waited for the droids—barefoot in their insulated coveralls, spits of snow sticking to their dull gray scalps. With an aggressive shove, the droids pushed the black gates open. The contractors made their exit down a narrow road carved from the mountain.
It was 11:40 a.m. They better be finished.
The project was behind schedule. They were supposed to be done on Labor Day, then Thanksgiving. Now it was Christmas.
Eb had paid absurd amounts of money for this project. There was no way for him to expand the Castle. The engineers were too shortsighted to think he’d want to add a room or two.
Idiots. All of them. That was what he posted on Yelp.
A fire blazed on the far side of the room, the flames’ reflection dancing on a black grand piano. Eb went to warm himself before returning to the window.
The last truck departed.
A shiver rippled down his back, as cold as it was nervous. This must be what it was like for children on Christmas Eve, fluttering excitement fanned by anticipation. He didn’t need Santa Claus to rubber-stamp his wishes, didn’t need to be good to get what he wanted. He took it.
A droid stepped into the room.
“Well?” Eb said.
“It’s finished, sir.”
“They’re finished, with everything? It’s not even lunch. They said it would be tomorrow.”
“It’s done, sir.”
“You’ve inspected it?”
“Top to bottom, sir. Side to side. They were motivated by Christmas.”
Why couldn’t everybody work like a vacation was waiting? Every other day of the year they grazed like lazy cows.
“Don’t release the final payment,” Eb said. “You know contractors once they’re paid. I want a second inspection.”
“An outside firm already provided one, sir.”
“Then I want a third. You can’t be too careful.”
The droid cocked his head with an incredulous smile. “This project didn’t even scratch your fortune, sir.”
“And don’t give them Christmas bonuses, either. They already dragged this out.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it, sir. They did exactly as you asked, why reward them?”
“Reward them for doing their job?” Eb laughed hysterically. If they didn’t do exactly what he wanted, exactly what he paid for, they’d get nothing. And he’d sue for pain and suffering. It hurt not getting what he wanted.
“Would you like to go up, sir?”
Eb paced to the piano. He adjusted his glasses and tapped his chin along the way. The anticipation roared inside him, a sweetness that trembled in all his chins. He started to answer, almost said yes, then made another pass around the room.
“You’ve waited all this time, sir. You rushed the contractors, and now you want to wait?”
The droid couldn’t understand. It had to be perfect. When you wanted something, it had to be absolutely perfect or it was no good at all. If there was a single fracture, a tiny scuff, Eb’s head would explode in a red mist.
“Perhaps we could launch the drones, sir, and see it from the outside first.”
Eb snapped his fingers. “Perfect. Yes. You’re not so stupid.”
“Of course not, sir.”
The droid forwarded a request to the basement, where an army of quadcopter drones were docked. They patrolled thousands of acres to report trespassers who, on occasion, snuck out to camp or hunt or whatever on Eb’s property. They were then persecuted to the full extent of the law.
The rings were icy bands around his sausage fingers. He clapped his hands—the heavy rings clinked—and stretched open a holo until it curved around his periphery and immersed his senses.
“Ready, sir?”
“Go.”
Snowflakes slashed across the slate gray holo. The view swayed as a gust of wind buffeted the drone. The view surged toward the ground. Eb clawed at the armrests, his stomach dropping. He tipped his head back and the drone ascended toward the sky. The flight settled, swinging left and right as he tipped his head, steering it into the open field before banking steeply to the left.
So immersed in the view and the response to his movements, he’d forgotten his body and become the drone. He soared unfettered by his flabby body and knotted emotions. The tangle of thoughts that weighed him down vanished.
The Castle came into view.
The architectural marvel was padded with snow. The broad windows reflected the mountain range. Atop the grandeur sat half a glassy dome—a black-mirrored snow globe perched on an extension like the tongue of a cuckoo clock.
Skeye™ dome.
It converted sunlight into energy, but it was so much more than that. The design was his idea, not Avocado’s. The name, too.
Pure Ebenezer Scrooge was on display.
“Satisfied, sir?”
Eb sat back and closed his eyes. His chin sank into his neck. A dopey grin dimpled his cheeks. The wait was over. Anticipation congealed into a drop of molasses—sweet and thick on his tongue.
From somewhere outside the room, a pair of screams pierced the silence. It was followed by the thump of something on the floor. The patter of footsteps faded.
“That better not have been expensive,” Eb said.
“It’s Christmas Eve, sir. The girls are excited.”
“That’s not an excuse.”
“You have a television appearance in two hours, sir. Would you like to experience the Skeye™ dome beforehand?”
“Is it ready?”
“It’s everything you dreamed of, sir.”
The droid helped pull him from the chair. Before he could mount the Segway, his rings began to vibrate. A quick swipe revealed who was calling.
Rick.
He thought about this for several seconds. He needed to take the call but didn’t want it to contaminate his Skeye™ dome experience. First impressions only came once. And the anticipation was already so yummy.
“Run my shower,” he said. “It can wait.”
“Are you positive, sir? Skeye™ dome is quite spectacular and—”
“Yes, I’m sure,” he whined. The mood was starting to spoil. This was exactly what he wanted to avoid. Why couldn’t everyone just leave him alone?
The droid exited.
Eb pulled open a holo. “What?”
“Mr. Scrooge, sorry to bother you on Christmas… um, I’m mean today.”
“Is it important?”
“I think it is.”
Eb’s projected image—the handsome, chiseled face that Rick was talking to—wouldn’t reveal the flush of frustration currently coloring his cheeks.
“What is it?” he said.
“We’re wrapping up end-of-year projects because, you know, the office will be closed tomorrow. Everything has gone smoothly, Mr. Scrooge, but we noticed this morning that the systems had bogged down, so we checked into it.”
Rick held out his hands like a rhino was charging. Eb’s frustration must have leaked through the projection.
“Everything is all right, though,” he said. “I promise.”
“Get to the point, Rick.”
He sighed. “The program is back.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The program from last year.”
Eb shook his head. A sinking feeling punched him in the groin; a distorted moment threatened to erase him. He hadn’t forgotten about the nightmare—the stretchy-armed, bug-infested thing that dragged him through his so-called future—but he had forgotten about the secret program that disappeared. IT promised it had been taken care of. And it had been.
“Is this a joke?” Eb said.
“No, Mr. Scrooge. But it doesn’t appear to be doing anything. All the data is backed up, the system files are okay, security is green.”
“The program has to be doing something, Rick.”
“We… we’re looking into it. There’s nothing to worry about as far as we can tell.”
“So you called to tell me what, Rick? You’re incompetent?”
“I don’t want you to worry, Mr. Scrooge. Last year it was a little unnerving, but we caught it early this time. We’ll figure out who put it there and what it’s doing.”
“I wouldn’t worry if you hadn’t called.”
Truth was, he would’ve been furious if he didn’t call. Rick couldn’t win. But that was sort of his job, the not-winning part.
A stampede of clapping shoes passed outside the doors again. This time the girls were babbling instead of screaming shrilly.
“Rick.” Eb held up a finger. “Will you excuse me a second?”
He split the sliding doors open and poked his head out. The girls had turned the corner, their shoes tapping into the distance, their psychobabble echoing gubbagubbagubbah. If he prattled on like that, they’d say he was losing his marbles. Seven-year-olds did it and they were bubbling bags of joy.
Or are they eight years old? Either way.
This recklessness would get handled now. Eb locked the holo onto the Segway, Rick watching him mount up.
“I know you’re busy—”
“I want you to stay at the plant until this is resolved,” Eb declared.
Rick looked up from the Segway’s handlebars, his expression dimming.
“I know, I know,” Eb said, “It’s Christmas Eve and blah, blah, blah, excuses, excuses. This is your job, Rick. This is what you do. You put out the fires; you make sure there’s water in the troughs. We are Avocado, Rick. We are the biggest nut on the tree, and you are one of the branches holding it up. You bend but don’t break, you understand?”
Eb leaned into a turn.
“When the storm hits, you don’t run, you don’t take vacation. You weather it, son. You protect the nut. People are jealous. They want to be us. They want to dominate the holiday season; they want our sales, our innovations, our domination. I don’t care what kind of pruning you have to do, you make sure that nut is safe. Am I making myself clear?”
By pruning, Eb meant trimming back family time. By family time, he meant Rick’s family.
By nut, Eb meant fortune. His fortune.
Whether he understood what Eb was saying didn’t matter, really. The tone was making the point. Based on Rick’s nodding and pasty complexion, Eb was certain the message was received.
“Yes, Mr. Scrooge.”
Eb killed the connection as he cruised by the girls’ bedroom. The door was open. They scurried behind the bed. He could hear them whispering. Eb leaned back and reversed the Segway.
The ruckus went silent.
“Girls, come out.”
The bedroom was spotless. The floor picked up, the bed made, the corners crisply tucked. It had been some time since he’d been up to their room. He’d peeked on it through a holo screen every once in a while, but actually walking into the room? Probably last Christmas.
“I know you’re hiding, girls. You’re not in trouble.”
Yet.
When they didn’t come out, Eb stepped into the room. He was stopped by a peculiar smell. An earthy scent. Fresh compost. But not a speck of dirt anywhere. He went to the bed.
“All right, that’s enough—”
They weren’t there.
He was certain he saw them, knew he heard them. He dropped a knee on the carpet and felt it squish. The floor was damp and cold. Similar spots darkened the carpet across the room. Eb dipped his head below the bed.
It was empty.
There were two lumps beneath the bedspread. Eb peeled it back to reveal two redheaded dolls, still worn and dirty. He had wrecked one of them last year after he saw it change into something quite terrifying. Maybe she had another one all this time, and he just didn’t notice. But where did it come from?
Something shuffled behind him.
“Girls?”
A light flashed inside the closet. They must’ve crawled under the bed and snuck to the closet when he bent down. Panic transformed into frustration, replacing the weakness in his legs with steely strength. He plodded to the closet and yanked it open.
Strands of Christmas lights hung over a dozen dresses, the flashing lights turning them different shades of green and red. An equal number of black shiny shoes were lined against the wall. In front of them was a small plate of cookies and a glass of milk. One of the cookies already had a bite out of it.
Eb grunted.
He bent over with much effort and took a bite from the uneaten cookie. Chocolate chip. It was still warm, too. This would be discussed at a state of the union later that night. Rules would have to be reinstated. He dropped the cookie then decided to eat the rest of it. The plate shifted as he grabbed it.
The torn corner of a piece of paper stuck out.
Eb, breathing heavily from the effort, unfolded it. Dear Santa, it read in big, loopy letters. There was a list beneath it, each line numbered. He couldn’t read the items but not because they were poorly written.
It was jibberish.
The same nonsense the girls whispered to each other, what the droid called their secret language.
Another scuffle by the bed.
Eb’s heart jumped. Blood pulsed through the racetrack of arteries in his forehead. The dolls were propped up on the pillows, relaxed and watching. His mouth was cotton. Like the stuffing that filled them.
“Silly,” he said to no one and walked stiff-legged to the bed.
He grabbed the dolls, one in each hand, and squeezed. They felt familiar. Something tugged at the back of his mind, attempting to pull memories out of the basement and dust them off.
They were old-fashioned rag dolls with round eyes and no hint of a nose. Their hands were mittens, dirty from the girls chewing on them and harboring a billion germs. His throat was beginning to itch. A strange tickle ran up his nose, an army of bacteria invading his sinuses and attacking his brain—
“Are you all right, sir?”
“Ahhh!”
The dolls hit the ceiling. Eb leaned against the wall, clutching his chest to keep his heart from blowing an escape route through his sternum.
“Don’t… ever… do that again,” Eb said.
“I sensed your vitals were unusual, sir. I came to see if you were feeling unwell.”
“I’ve been calling you for the past half hour.”
“I’m sorry, sir. I did not receive a call.” The droid returned with a warm damp cloth, patting Eb’s clammy chins and the back of his neck. “Did something startle you, sir?”
He wasn’t about to admit the dolls just totally freaked him out. “That,” he said instead, pointing at the closet. “What’s going on in there?”
“It appears the girls are celebrating, sir.”
“And you didn’t know anything about it?”
“Obviously they were hiding it, sir.”
“Obviously.” Eb got his wind back. “You’re supposed to be watching them.”
“I’m not a spy, sir.”
“Just clear out the closet and don’t let it happen again.”
“Of course, sir. I’m all about helping you. Would you care for another warm washcloth?”
“Would you care to explain this?” Eb shook the dolls.
“The girls’ dolls, sir.” He cocked his head. “How are you not aware of their dolls?”
“Don’t give me that. Where did this one come from?” It was impossible to tell which one was which—they both looked a hundred years old—so he shook them both. “One of these had a little accident last year.”
“They have more than one doll, sir.”
“No, they don’t.”
“Of course they do, sir. How would she have another one?”
“That’s what I’m asking you!”
They had showed up at his front door with a doll in each hand and no luggage. Now they had a closet full of identical clothing and dolls that multiplied like rabbits.
“Where are they?” Eb said. “Where are all these dolls? Show me.”
“They’re not here, sir.”
“They’re gone?”
“Just not in this room, sir.”
“Then. Where?”
“I will find them, sir. If that’ll make you happy.”
Eb squeezed the little pillows. A pile of these raggedy dust mite motels made him itch. They would probably burn without an ounce of lighter fluid—just a match and whoosh.
Then, for some odd reason, he had the urge to push them against his face and breathe the musty fabric.
“I must be losing my mind,” he muttered.
“That’s quite possible, sir.”
“Is it?” Eb sneered. “Get the girls up here to… to clean up or something.”
The room was already spotless. The closet would take exactly five seconds to reorganize. Maybe they could scrub the bathroom or shovel the sidewalk. Something besides giving him a migraine.
And where are they?
FIFTEEN
~
The bow tie was giving him fits.
Eb blamed his fingers. They were still soft and pickled. He’d taken a marathon steam shower and actually nodded off for a spell. The fog had a clearing effect on his thoughts, like a section break in a long narrative of nightmares, a swish of water to cleanse the mental palate.
He propped his top hat forward and stepped back from the mirror, turning left then right. An over-the-shoulder look back. From an inside pocket, he withdrew a silk handkerchief and tucked it into the front pocket of his jacket. He dialed the tint on his round spectacles to match the kerchief.
